


victim // dylric

by f4g1c1d3



Category: Columbine - Fandom, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Death, Don't Like Don't Read, Dylric, Guns, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Necrophilia, Smut, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f4g1c1d3/pseuds/f4g1c1d3
Summary: i dont really know what to say about this. just read it. or dont, i dont blame you.
Relationships: Eric Harris/Dylan Klebold
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	victim // dylric

**Author's Note:**

  * For [80sCrusader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/80sCrusader/gifts).



"fuck," eric muttered as the branch of a thorn bush swiped across his bare ankle. he continued to trudge deeper and deeper into the forest, lugging behind him over 140 pounds of dead weight.

he knew that fucking around with guns was a bad idea.

the memory hadn't stopped playing in his mind since. the crinkled eyes and the hushed laughs, because god forbid anyone come home and find eric and dylan alone in a room together.

it was only a few days earlier that eric's father entered his room unannounced to find dylan sitting on top of eric in his twin sized bed, bare from the waist up.

there was a big argument that night. after dylan grabbed his shirt and leapt out the window, eric saw anger in his father's eyes that burned into him with the heat of a thousand suns. the overwhelming feeling of disappointment in himself hurt more than the bruises he received.

yet together again they were, giggling as eric waved around his father's precious glock 17.

"look at this shit," eric said. "its beautiful."

dylan chuckled.

"for sure," he agreed. "can i hold it?"

dylan reached for the gun, but eric jerked away. the corner of his mouth pulled upward, showing a mischievous smirk.

eric placed his finger on the trigger and pointed the weapon at dylan's forehead.

"put your hands in the air," he teased.

dylan tensed up and shuffled backwards.

"not funny, man," he said, his voice low.

"calm down pussy, my dad always keeps the safety on. now put your hands up."

"just take your finger off the trigger," dylan reasoned.

"where's the fun in that? nothing's gonna happen."

dylan's brow furrowed, and his cheeks began to turn red.

"eric, i'm serious."

"i'm just messing around-"

"then take your finger off the trigger!" he yelled.

dylan didn't often yell; breaking his normal character startled eric. he contemplated putting the gun away altogether, as the atmosphere changed drastically. it was no longer a game if dylan was genuinely angry.

eric began to lower the weapon, but not fast enough for dylan's liking. he swung a quick hand at the gun in eric's grasp, attempting to disarm him.

and then it was over.

eric's finger still on the trigger, he quickly realized how the safety feature on the gun actually worked.

ears ringing and eyes wide in disbelief, eric stared at the boy in front of him who now, slumped over, had deep red blood pouring from a hole above his left eyebrow.

"what the fuck," he whispered, dropping the gun and frantically running his hands through his hair.

"what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck," he repeated, voice growing louder; deaf to his own screams.

eric pulled at his hair and let his breaths speed up, panic overtaking his whole body. he wondered how he would clean this up, where he would hide the body, not yet realizing that the only person he had ever loved was laying dead right in front of him.

and it was his fault.

he jumped from the bed and scrambled to put his father's gun back where he found it. he didn't worry that he would eventually notice a bullet missing, or the safety guard no longer engaged. that wasn't his main priority.

he returned to his room and was somehow surprised to see dylan still there. this was starting to feel like a horrible, horrible nightmare.

eric walked slowly over to the bed, nudging dylan's shoulder.

"dylan?"

no response.

"dyl?"

same result.

"shit," he hissed.

he began to pace, glancing at the clock.

4:19 PM

his father would be home within the hour. chewing his fingernails, he looked over at dylan once more. the bleeding had slowed, he noticed. the bedsheets beneath him gleamed red.

he waiting for the blood to stop flowing as he plotted his next actions. would he turn himself in? he would surely be arrested. it wasn't intentional, but he still killed a man.

manslaughter.

the threat of imprisonment and the understanding that he would never hear the end of how big of a fag he was from his father told him all he needed to know. he had to hide the body.

eric tiptoed back over to the bed, not quite sure exactly what he was afraid of. he pulled the fitted sheet off it's corners and wrapped the fabric around dylan's body still laying in the middle of the mattress. he focused most on clotting the bullet wound, pressing the majority of the sheet to it directly.

then, armed with a lighter and a large shovel he grabbed on his way out the back door (and, of course, the corpse of his now ex-lover), he stumbled into the woods.

surrounded only by trees and the crushing guilt of what he had done, he walked on, cursing every time the sheet dylan was wrapped in snagged on a rock or a twig.

eric huffed, and continued to labor towards a specifically dense patch of trees. as he approached it, he looked feverishly around, trying to find any sign of others. he couldnt afford to have someone see him out here.

satisfied now with the coverage of the foliage, the secrecy within the trees, he let himself fall to the ground. emotionally defeated and physically exhausted, he attempted to catch his breath.

eric squeezed his eyes shut until he could see flecks of blue and red dance across his otherwise dark field of vision. this wasn't real, this wasn't happening.

but sure enough, when his eyelids opened seemingly against his will, he still saw the same dead boy in the same bloody sheets laying in front of him. hesitantly, he reached a hand outwards, and began to peel the layers of fabric away.

exposed, dylan's half opened eyes stared at eric. the latter felt a shiver rattle through his entire spine.

eric, to the best ability, brushed dylan's sandy blonde hair from his forehead, sticky with blood.

"i still love you," eric said hoarsely. he felt insane.

he leaned back and gauged the situation at hand. what to do with all the cloth? surely, there are traces of his dna all over dylan's clothes. he can't let all that physical evidence stay attached to dylan. he may as well write the word "GUILTY" across his own forehead in black sharpie.

deciding finally that he would burn all the fabric, sheets and clothing, he began to strip dylan. he struggled first to take off his shirt as dylan's arms laid heavy and limp by his side.

eventually pulling it over his head, spotting it with blood as it passed over the wound, eric tossed the shirt on top of the bedsheets.

eric gulped as his eyes took in the sight of dylan's bare chest. he usually loved him, loved his body, loved his skin, warm to the touch and littered with purple splotches that detailed the heat of their passionate interactions; but not like this. cold, pale, pulled taught against what little muscle he had as his body began to stiffen.

hands shaking with tremors that mimicked those of an addict, eric reached for dylan's jeans. he unbuttoned them and zipped the fly down, moving slowly but his heart racing at a hundred miles an hour.

he tucked his fingers under the waist of dylan's pants and slid them down to his ankles. he realized he forgot to take his shoes off first, but decided to yank both the jeans and sneakers off at one time. the laces were never tied, so he didn't have any trouble removing them.

eric had to stop himself from staring at dylan laying in front of him in his underwear. in any other context, the sight before him would be something out of a dream, something he imagined when he was locked in his bedroom alone with a hand to his mouth, muffling the noises he worked out of himself.

but this time was different, and in the worst way possible. eric rubbed his eyes, in a way wishing to wipe away the images of what he had done. that, and the thoughts of what he wished to do right now.

he knelt down in front of the body, and inhaled deeply before reaching for dylan's patterned boxers. he pulled them down, exposing the younger boy to the harsh and unforgiving air of the forest around him. the smell of death, the scent of guilt, filled eric's nose.

curious, eric touched a hesitant finger to dylan's upper thigh. despite everything, he still loved the feeling of his flesh, the paleness of his skin. he couldn't help but think about how beautiful he looked, helpless. vulnerable. innocent. he wanted more.

as he gripped the meat of his leg in his hand, remembering the times he had done so prior (and earned a whine from dylan in the process), he wondered when those purple scars had appeared. he had never seen them before, but it wasn't unlike dylan to inflict damage upon himself. or to keep it a secret. he pushed the thought away.

he felt hungry, in a way. he allowed his more primal urges to take control, and began to explore dylan's body more feverishly than before. he dragged a finger or two across his skin, hands wandering all over his stomach and hips. more than anything, he wanted to hold him. so he did.

eric worked his arms underneath dylan's torso, lifting his body up off the ground and into his grasp. he held the boy tightly against himself, chests touching. his quivering breath warmed dylan's collarbones. he repositioned dylan's head, which had fallen limp, so that his nose and lips were barely grazing the crook of eric's neck; the older boy shuddered at the feeling.

he allowed one more tear to quietly fall from his eyes. he knew they would never again be blessed with the sight of dylan alive. placing a few kisses on dylan's shoulder, neck, and jawline, he let himself delve deeper into his twisted fantasy.

his hands found their way around dylan's bare back, snaking up his neck and nesting in his hair. his lips moved closer to dylan's, ending up in a nearly open mouthed kiss that he welcomed with both sorrow and excitement.

an ache began to grow in his pants, and he didn't hesitate to tend to it. with a shaking hand, he unclasped his belt and pulled it from the belt loops. he tossed it aside, and then returned his hand to the button and zipper.

once removed, eric set his pants on the clothing pile beside him and took his undergarments off after.

he aided his growing member, inhaling sharply through his teeth when his cold fingers touched the warm skin. he wrapped his hand loosely around it and gave it a few lazy pumps before turning his attention back to dylan, gently laying him back on the ground.

eric took one curious look at the boy before him, and swiftly removed his shirt; something he didn't do often in front of live dylan.

things were different now.

he placed two fingers on dylan's eyelids and closed them gently. it was creepy, eric thought, being only half-opened. as he leaned down, he rested a final kiss on dylan's blue lips.

eric's face went sour as he realized what he had done. what he was about to do. he quickly forced the realization out, and ran his hands gently down dylan's sides, grabbing onto his legs.

eric was never a very strong man, but dylan's scrawny legs were never this hard to lift. it was all dead weight now.

he rested his knees in the crook of his elbows, holding his bottom half slightly up in the air. he used a hand to align himself with dylan, and let a string of spit fall from his mouth onto himself.

as he tried to push himself in, he was met with a severe tenseness. he moved his other hand from dylan's waist and placed it on his shoulder, using him as a hold while he attempted to thrust into him again.

successfully inside dylan, eric began with a few slower thrusts before he picked up speed. he wondered what this would feel like if dylan was conscious, able to react with those sweet hums eric loved to hear.

eric increased his pace, hissing at the feeling of dylan's tight muscles enveloping him. he stifled a moan as he realized just how disgusting this was. let's face it, he was drawn to the taboo, the macabre.

gritting his teeth, he imagined spilling over, deep inside of dylan, and leaving his body atop the leaf pile for the wildlife to scavenge for. he bathed in the euphoria he felt knowing dylan was entirely vulnerable to him.

he hungrily explored dylan's body with his hands once more, unable to get enough of his touch. he gripped his hands onto his hips, grasping hard enough to leave bruises - should oxygen still be flowing through his veins.

each stroke delivered with an almost animal-like desire, eric began to treat dylan's body like more of a toy than a human partner. he felt drunk off of lust, his thoughts too foggy to be coherent. all he wanted, all he ever could want, was dylan wrapped around and taking every inch of him.

quiet groans fell from eric's lips, still half attempting to keep himself quiet. sure, he was in the middle of a forest, but he couldn't be certain he was alone. was it hunting season? did people even hunt in these woods? he didn't ponder these ideas long enough to determine the answer, he was much more focused on dylan; how good he managed to make him feel without even doing anything.

despite the idea of dylan's bare skin and welcoming pose constantly overtaking eric's dreams, causing him to - more often than not - wake up with an issue in his boxers, he never could've imagined this feeling of pure elation. he relished in every sensation, as he knew he would likely never feel it again.

he was nearing the end, and he could tell by the warmth beginning to build near his stomach. eric became desperate, to an extent that he would not soon admit. his efforts turned lazy, maintaining the same intensity as before but losing all sense of coordination.

eric's fingernails sunk deeper into dylan's flesh as he grasped for the feeling of release. higher pitched whines escaped him, and in the moment, he couldn't seem to care less.

his left leg began to shake as he neared his limit, and his eyes rolled slightly back. he squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, losing himself in the moment. eric could've sworn he had shifted dimensions.

he finished with a harsh exhale and an utterance of a string of curse words, riding out his climax by gently continuing to fuck in and out of dylan's body. eric swallowed laboriously and tried to slow his shaking breaths.

"fuck," he whispered as he pulled out. he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb in circles around the skin of dylan's shoulder. he wanted more of dylan, more from dylan, but he knew he would never get it. he felt oddly detached from him, like all of his actions were insincere. he wished he could look into his eyes and have him look back, but eric knew that wasn't possible.

a wave of sadness pulled him under and left him helpless in the undertow. he felt many different things, an overwhelming sense of shame among them. he tried to shake the thoughts as he quickly redressed himself.

putting his clothes on as fast as possible, he attempted to push the grief from his mind. he ignored the tears welling in his eyes, denying their existence as they fell onto his cheeks. he kept catching glimpses of dylan as he pulled his jeans on. did he want to look away? he couldn't tell. the sight of dylan was the only thing he cared to fill his vision with, but seeing him in his current state seemed to do more harm than good.

now fully clothed, eric attempted to clear his head. he had to get back to work, time was running out. he fished his lighter from his pocket and arranged dylan's clothes in a neat pile far from any dead leaves or pine needles. he flicked the lighter, sparking a flame, and held it to the bloody fabric until it caught fire.

he watched the spark engulf the clothing, singeing the frayed edges of his worn down jeans first before overtaking the entire pile. the thinner cloth of his t-shirt was destroyed almost as soon as the flame touched it.

redirecting his attention, eric retrieved the large shovel he brought with him. he thrust it into the dirt beneath his feet, carving a dylan-sized hole in the earth with haste. it proved to be more time consuming than he previously imagined.

after a good ten minutes of uninterrupted labor, eric was getting close to digging an adequately sized grave. it would be shallow, he didn't have any other choice. hopefully these woods wouldn't be the first place authorities chose to search.

sweat began to bead on his forehead and pool in the indentation of his chest. he continued to dig, tossing soil haphazardly to the side. his shoulders rose and fell dramatically as he labored over each inhale. he couldn't tell if his breathlessness stemmed from the physical exertion or his nearly crippling anxiety.

once satisfied with the depth of the grave, he dropped his shovel and sat on his knees. he reached as far as he could, grabbing onto dylan's ankles and attempting to pull him over to the whole in the ground. he dropped his legs in first, following the action with a rough push on the side of his torso. he was heavier than he remembered.

he had to adjust dylan's positioning, folding him in on himself so he was able to fit his whole body in the depression in the forest floor.

eric hesitated before standing, admiring dylan's beauty one final time. if he tried real hard, he could pretend he was merely sleeping, that he would see his eyes and hear his voice again if he just waited til morning.

he dreaded the thought of tomorrow morning.

with the side of his shoe, eric swept a mountain of dirt into the hole. pile after pile fell on top of dylan, quickly covering his body.

as the soil filled the hole, eric quickly realized how suspicious the freshness of it all would look to a passerby. he stepped on top of the dirt, compressing it as he did. disgust overtook his body; how much more disrespectful could he get? stomping on the grave of his wrongfully murdered boyfriend?

he wasn't sure what to feel. the absurdity of the situation was setting in, and he couldn't tell whether it would be more appropriate to sob or laugh hysterically. he couldn't seem to be capable of doing either. so he continued the task at hand, finishing it off by sprinkling leaves over top. surely that concealed it enough.

eric checked on the pile of clothes, which had been all but reduced to ash. he waited a few moments longer before stomping out the dwindling flame, deciding then to kick pile of ash to spread it around.

satisfied, he asked himself what else there was to do. he wanted to sit with dylan, lie beside his concealed grave and talk to him for just a bit longer. he knew he couldn't; it was time to go. his dad would be home any minute.

he choked on what must have been a rising sob, but refused to let it go any further. he couldn't look a mess if he were to meet his dad at the door.

eric picked up the shovel and threw it into the trees with as much strength as he could muster. it would look rather suspicious to return home with just a spade in hand.

he took one last look at dylan in what would hopefully be his final resting place before exiting the woods the same way he entered them. his thoughts were racing, the majority of them attacking him and his morality.

"do you understand what you've done?"

he didn't.

"do you understand what that makes you?"

he couldn't.

eric felt the urge to smack himself in the head, an urge so demanding he had to give in. repeatedly, nearly involuntary. he didn't even know why he was doing it. he felt pent up energy, overwhelmingly negative energy, begging to be released in one way or another.

he took a minute to reflect on himself, what he must have looked like to a hypothetical witness; emerging from the forest alone, unknowingly whispering his thoughts aloud to himself, hitting himself in his own temple with such ferocity you'd think he was suffering from a tic attack. embarrassment - no, disgust - rose up his esophagus like stomach bile.

he would never be able to look at himself and see a good man, a pure man. he could never be whole again.

to his surprise, he eventually arrived at his back porch. he could've sworn he had been slowly disintegrating from the ankles up with every step he took; he figured he'd be reduced to a scattered trail of dust before he reached the door.

but here he was. he entered hesitantly, bracing himself for a possible interaction with his father. as he was completing his quick survey of the first floor, he heard a creak above him. his heart lurched.

eric tiptoed up the stairs, eyes peeled and ears on high alert. as he made his way to his bedroom door, he was startled by his father's voice carrying over his shoulder.

"hey bud," wayne said, almost like he was asking a question.

eric turned around and discovered his dad standing in his bedroom doorway. he looked him up and down, his breath coming to a halt as he noticed it.

the glock 17, held gently, cautiously, in wayne's hands.

he thought he was going to vomit.

"yeah?" eric responded, attempting to mask the shakiness in his voice.

"could you come here a second? i think there's something we need to talk about."


End file.
